Iron Souls
by J.R. Vegas
Summary: In Larandal, demons run amok and fallen kingdoms crumble even further. A man awakens in a burnt city on the island kingdom of Rast and sets in motion a chain of events that will shape the future, for some warriors are meant to die as a waste of air, and others are made to become legend. RATED T FOR SOME VIOLENCE AND LANGUAGE.
1. I-PR

**IRON SOULS  
IRON ARC  
PROLOGUE: The Embers Alight**

_In an age long ago, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. Great archtrees and immortal Everlasting Dragons ruled that world, unchallenged. That is, until _they_ came. The Hollows rose and found the Souls of Lords amongst the First Flame, rising to challenge and devastate the Everlasting Dragons. Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, tore apart their scales with mighty bolts of lightning. The Witch of Izalith and her many daughters weaved massive firestorms to devastate the archtrees after the Gravelord, Nito, ripped through them with a miasma of death and disease. Even one of the Everlasting Dragons, Seath, turned on his own kind, betraying them, marking the fall of the unformed, fog-shrouded world, and the rise of the Age of Fire. Yet, the Ancients still lived._

_The Ancients had kept watch over the unformed world, maintaining order to keep Chaos and Disparity from rising. In the end, their efforts proved fruitless, so their king, the deity known as Allpower Drath'Val, ordered Thil Akran, the City of the Gods, sealed away so that none of those possessing the Souls of Lords could enter, effectively rendering the powers of those who would use them to build mighty kingdoms, including the Lord of Sunlight himself, useless against the gates of Thil Akran. However, Drath'Val failed to eliminate the power of the Dark Soul, which the furtive pygmy had taken up and begun to use to create humanity. As thus, even when the Ancient were sealing themselves away in their great city, humanity rose and began to thrive. Little did Drath'Val know that a human could easily slip inside with the power of the Dark Soul..._

_Some time after that, the first human kingdoms rose. Thse included the mysterious island kingdom of Rast in the Five-Finger Delta, the wide, sweeping kingdom of Larandal that would later split into the lands of Astora, Balder, and Oolacile, the strange, isolated mountain kingdom of Naur, and, of course, the strange, jubilant land of Catarina, home to the unusual onion-garbed knights. The City of Lords, Anor Londo, began to make its presence known throughout the northern continent, displaying its power with the strength of lords, even though it stood high above most places on the northern continent, being situated atop a large mountain in the middle of Larandal. However, most places were uninhabited, for they had proved too testy for those who dared to try to venture in, with the Far East desert being a harsh, prominent example. The southern continent proved no better, with great beasts swallowing up those who dared to venture deep within._

_Our tale begins in a burned-out city in the now-fallen kingdom of Rast. The First Flame still burns, though it has begun to weaken, and rumors are spreading even in Rast that the Lords plan on trying to find a way to bolster the First Flame. A man awakens inside of a destroyed hovel, and thus, it begins..._

Ashes floated through the air on a stale, weak breeze. The occasional ember could be seen peaking into a small, momentary flame, the flicker of orange being snuffed out after just a few moments. Many buildings were no more than blackened shells of what they used to be ever since a massive fire spread through this city, destroying much of it and killing many. Those who survived dubbed this nameless city the City of Ashes, for that is almost all that remains.

A figure stirred in the ashes of one of these buildings; a rather small hovel with almost nothing left of it. Its wooden rafters had been struck down by flame, its planks half-incinerated. Various soot-stained trinkets laid scattered about, forgotten in a panic. What were once beds, now only ashes remained, and the figure realized he lay in one of these piles of ashes that had once been these beds, and didn't know why.

The man sat up, and ash fell from his body as he did so. He looked around, drinking in the burnt-out hovel's sights. Or, at least, what was left of them. He remembered nothing, and it confounded him greatly. No matter how much he tried to remember how he could have gotten here, to this pile of ashes, he just couldn't dredge up any sort of memory. He quietly sighed and stood, dusting himself off as he did so. The ashes that had quite almost caked on his leggings fell away with relative ease.

He was garbed in a low-ranking knight's armor; his helmet was bright steel, his hard leather armor was well cared for, and his leggings and gauntlets were made with fine iron. He was unarmed, and he knew it, for he felt weak. If anything were to accost him at that exact moment, he would most likely fall in battle. Upon thinking of his prospective death, he felt the back of his neck burn, and he groaned in pain as he reached around to feel the back of his neck. He drew his hand away to see dripping blood. He moaned as he realized that he was afflicted with the Darksign, marking the undead curse.

When he finally spoke, it was to himself, and it was in a deep, sotto voice. "No wonder I couldn't remember how I got here. That damned Darksign is branded into my neck." He began to walk away from the ashes that he stood in, and the pile of ashes trailed after him momentarily before cutting off. His steps thumped moderately loudly on the slightly rotted wooden floors of the burnt hovel. Ashes floated by his face as he moved through the place he could only dimly recall asking to the stay the night, only to find himself in this charred ruin.

Soon, the man crossed through the entranceway, and he looked about to find an entire city almost burned to cinders. The embers about the city were yet still alight, though their light was dim at best. He raked his gaze across buildings whose destroyed walls jutted like hands reaching towards the sky in their last desperate moment, across a landscape covered in ash from everything that burned. He saw bodies everywhere, some of which were incinerated skeletons, and others who were relatively intact, albeit somewhat decayed. He quickly shifted his eyes away from the bodies that weren't skeletal; he didn't need the sight of dessicated forms be his only remembrance of this forsaken city.

He heard a groan, and some shuffling of feet as he turned his head to observe a sword-holding Hollow advance on him. Its armor was charred black, and its skin seemed taut and tightly drawn as though it were the skin of a drum. Wrinkles marred the otherwise smooth skin, and the very sight of it chilled the newly-awakened man to the core. He looked around him for something, anything, to use as a weapon to combat the approaching creature. He quickly noticed a body (one of which he would rather not have looked at in the first place) that had what appeared to be a broken sword lying next to it. He scrambled towards it as quickly as he could, grasping for the blade that lay next to the corpse. He grabbed it and whirled around, broken weapon at the ready, knowing that he would have next-to-no chance of defeating the Hollow.

The Hollow jogged towards him with a throaty groan, and it raised the sword above its head. The man rolled out of the way as the blade descended towards him, striking the ground where he had just been standing moments before. A flash of sparks emitted from the spot where the sword had struck, and the Hollow realized then that its blade was stuck fast. The creature seemed to have trouble removing its shortsword from the spot where it had lodged it with its swing, so the man took advantage of this and plunged his weapon into the back of the Hollow's neck. The creature seemed to scream in an animalistic manner, and began to writhe in pain. The man began to stab into the back of the Hollow's neck over and over in an attempt to kill it. It eventually removed its blade from the ground and turned to face the man with the broken weapon.

He charged at the Hollow foolishly, not realizing his mistake. Fortunately, the Hollow didn't have the sense to capitalize on this, and instead craned its neck to follow the man's movement. This was a bad mistake on its part, and as luck would have it, the blade had not yet dulled despite its state as the figure plunged his blade into the Hollow's eye, bringing about its end. The creature slumped onto the man, and he pushed it off of him, leaving the broken weapon stuck in its eye socket. It fell forward, losing its death grasp on the shortsword which it had held. He took notice of the sword, and reached out for it. It felt...more satisfying to wield than the broken blade that he had used moments earlier to combat the Hollow that had attempted to kill him. Then again, a desperate situation had called for a desperate measure, so the end had surely justified the means.

The man tested the blade by hefting it, and he swung it around, almost falling over in the process of doing so. He had a chuckle at his would-be mistake, and swung the blade some more. He began to enjoy using it, even though he began to feel himself tiring out a bit from practicing with it. He felt as though the blade in his hand would be able to save his life, and it would prove to be true, as another Hollow laid eyes on him and began to shamble towards him. This Hollow was armed with a shortsword as well, and lacked a shield, for senselessness stems from insanity. It groaned as it raised its blade...

The man dodged out of the way, and plunged his own sword into the creature's back. He felt the hilt of the weapon ram up against the small of the Hollow's back, and then he firmly planted his foot on the Hollow and kicked it off of the sword, leaving a rather small hole where it had been run through. The beast groaned and attempted to stand, only to have a foot planted into its backside. The shortsword pierced through its neck without warning, finishing off the downed monster. The man felt the Hollow shudder in its death throes under his foot, and he stepped away from the dead creature. "Are...these creatures insane? They look like men, but they certainly don't fight like they are. Besides, they look...wrong. They don't look like they should even be alive. What drives them?"

Out of nowhere, a revelation came before him. His had moved up to his left temple out of what seemed to be it's own volition. "I never...bothered trying to remember my name. My name is Caithas. Caithas of Rast." His eyes widened slightly. "But...where is Rast? Is this it? There's no way...Then again, I wouldn't be able to remember how it may have looked, thanks to that damned Darksign." The brand on his neck burned slightly as if responding on cue to Caithas having mentioned it. He grimaced at the sensation, and chose to begin moving on. He wouldn't be able to get away from these beasts if he stood stock-still.

He wandered under a burnt-out arch, its left side leaning over as if it could break away from its supports and fall onto the charred streets below. Caithas was quick to hurry, for he knew that if it fell with him under it, that'd spell the end for him. As he looked up at it, he saw that the skies above were smoky and gray, as if cementing in the fact that this city was long since gone. That was when he made his decision: He had to get out of this place. But how? Caithas mused to himself, "I reckon I'll get out of here somehow, I'll just have to hope luck guides me on the right path."

A pair of Hollows laid eyes on Caithas and began to saunter towards him. He readied the sword he held in hand, and watched the two creatures as they made their way towards him. The one that approached from the left raised its blade, and he moved out of the way as he took the time to note the other Hollow had a shield as well as a sword. He'd need that shield! He quickly cut down the first Hollow as he prepared to figure out how to deal with the other one. It raised its shield, and he rolled toward the Hollow, confusing the creature. He struck the hilt of his sword against the shield, staggering the creature, and Caithas took the opportunity to slash his sword across the creature's throat, slashing its windpipe and leaving it dying, gasping for air. It dropped its shield and fell to its knees, and Caithas took the opportunity to raise his sword and slice down into the Hollow's skull, splitting its head in two. As the body fell forward to the ground, Caithas knelt and plucked the rather small shield from the ground.

The shield was somewhat circular, as its edges were somewhat jagged. He slipped his hand into the grip at the back of the shield, and he tested its weight by moving it into various defensive positions. He felt as through it would be rather comfortable to use the shield in tandem with the shortsword he held in his other hand. With that, he looked towards the cathedral that was surrounded by burnt out buildings. Its gothic spires were broken and charred, as was the stone that the building was crafted with. The stained-glass windows were shattered and dulled, and from the meager view he got through the windows, bodies seemed to litter the inside of the church, as if dozens of people had sought a last-minute redemption as fiery death bore down on them.

Caithas saw he had no other choice but to go in and face whatever lurked inside...

**END OF PROLOGUE: THE EMBERS ALIGHT**

THE NEXT CHAPTER:

I: CATHEDRAL AND DOCK


	2. I-I

**IRON SOULS  
IRON ARC  
I: Cathedral and Dock**

Caithas pushed open the fire-scarred, rotted doors of the cathedral, and saw that bodies littered the floor of the place, and yet more lined the walls, as if placed there by some gentle hand. Unfortunately, they also seemed quite fresh, and this confused Caithas as to when the city may have burned; if the city itself had been burned nearly to its foundations, why were there a mixture of decayed corpses and then these fresh ones? It just didn't make much sense to the swordsman, and as he pored over this, he began to walk forward. He happened to bump his foot on one of the corpses, and it stirred with an unholy moan. As if responding to the solitary cry, several more groans and various raspy noises floated through the air as quite a few more corpses sat up and began to struggle to their feet.

Caithas looked around as at seven Hollows stood and began to shamble towards him, unarmed. Their arms hung limp by their sides, the skin on their arms just as drawn as the skin on their dead faces. He noticed that their eye sockets were blackened, yet they seemed to still be able to see. How he hadn't noticed this while fighting the first Hollow that he encountered, he'd never know, though he'd later chalk it up to panic and the desperation to survive. However, he knew now that if he didn't move _fast_, he'd be torn apart despite the armor he wore.

He tore towards the first Hollow he laid eyes on, and he sent his blade arcing through the air towards its arm, severing it from the elbow down, and he completed the swing with the shortsword slicing down into the top of another Hollow's skull, almost splitting its head in two. He withdrew the weapon as the monster fell dead, and he twisted around to stab another one in the stomach. Caithas brought the blade up savagely, carving into its chest, and he withdrew the sword and kicked the Hollow away as he struck another with his small shield. He brought his shield crashing into the neck of the first Hollow he had attacked, crushing its throat, and he finished it with a quick slash across the chest. He turned to see the Hollow he had stabbed standing up from where it lay on the ground, and it staggered towards him.

Caithas knew full well he had to keep moving fluidly or he would be overwhelmed, and with that, he brought his blade through the wounded Hollow's throat, sending its now-disembodied head tumbling to the ground. He jammed his shortsword into the fourth Hollow's ribs and punched his shield into its face, crushing the remnants of its nose. He pulled the shortsword from its ribs, and he tripped it with a swift lower kick that sent it crashing to the ruined floor of the cathedral. He hacked away quickly at a fifth Hollow, carving up its torso and sending it staggering backwards, and it fell dead as he decapitated the last standing Hollow. With that, he finished off the last Hollow that had attacked him with a sword through the back of the head. The beast screeched briefly before finally dying, and Caithas withdrew his weapon from the dead creature, stepping away from the carnage-filled scene.

Dead Hollows had finally joined their scorched compatriots, with some body parts laying next to the forms that had once possessed them. As Caithas took the time to observe the shattered, bloodied windows of the place, he heard soft clapping come from behind him. He whirled to see a man in a ragged longcoat, a rare thing these days. The longcoat-wearing man wore a leather doublet on his torso, and wore a pair of black leggings with brown boots. The other man himself had incredibly white hair, and his eyes were bloodshot and almost entirely red as thus. "I see you've come to this cathedral, perhaps in the hope of getting out of Rast. Well, I'll introduce myself. I'm Jien Lamar, the former priest of this church. You may be asking yourself even now, 'Why former? And what is it with your eyes?' Allow me to explain: The fire ripped through this church and slaughtered almost all of my flock, and my eyes...they are worn red with worry, worry for the survival of this place."

Caithas grunted demurely, and responded, "In that case, I am Caithas of Rast. I don't know why I'm here in this ruined city, but I just want out. I need to get away, and I don't care where I go." This earned him a chuckle from the longcoat-donning priest, who replied, "Well, then. You'd be best off going to the docks of this place. The fire caught throughout most of the city, though I noticed the docks are relatively unscathed. In fact, I even saw a rowboat there. But, don't rest easy yet," said Jien Lamar, "as there are still yet beasts in your way. You're not going to have an easy time of it; in fact, I hardly survived the trip from the docks back to this ruin."

This brought a worried expression to Caithas's face, and Jien Lamar felt his body shake softly with an effort to contain mirth. "Oh, worry not. I watched you as you slaughtered those demons, and you handed them with aplomb. Surely you can handle a beast at the docks. Well, on with you then. I need to organize last rites for all the souls that lie here. I would've done so when the fire had finished burning then, but it had been chaos, so I had had to hide."

Caithas crossed the room and clasped Jien Lamar's shoulder. "I thank you for your help, friend. I hope that you endure this place. It's still dangerous outside the cathedral, even in the ashen streets."

Jien Lamar looked calmly at the knight before him, and said, "Endure? There's nothing left to save here, my boy. The city's burned nearly to cinders, and anything that's walking out there is either one of those mindless demons or a soulless marauder who wants to pillage anything that still stands. You've proven to be an exception, but I root myself in reality. In any case, you should go. I fear for my life and yours both even as we stand here...The last thing you should know is that the door at the back of the church leads to a tunnel that leads to the docks. Good luck to you, Caithas of Rast. You'll need it every step of the way."

With that, Caithas nodded grimly at the former priest, and set off to the back door of the church, which was behind the dimly lit altar, and he opened the half-broken wooden door. He closed it behind him, and Jien Lamar watched as the knight left the cathedral. The priest picked up a sword that had been dropped in the church by a marauder who had been killed in the fire, and he looked over it. He began to murmur a soft prayer to the Ancients, his hands stroking the blade as he spoke the words to himself. When he finished, he took one long look at the sword, and he raised it high. He plunged it into his own belly, his eyes widening as the cold steel sunk into his stomach. He fell to the ground, twitching as his hands left the sword. As he convulsed in his death throes, he gasped to himself, "Nothing...left...to save..."

Meanwhile, as the priest prayed and committed suicide, Caithas was halfway down the small tunnel, and it was nearly pitch-black in the stone recess. He couldn't observe his surroundings, as there was almost nothing to see but the light of the door that was a ways ahead of him. He strode slowly towards it, half-full of dread due to the fact Jien Lamar had said there was a terrible beast waiting at the docks. He pondered how he would deal with it, whatever it was, as he neared the doorway, and he could tell that the door was damaged, like the one he had come through at the ruined church's altar. He reached out for the knob, and made to turn it, but the door fell away from its hinges as he pushed it, causing him to stumble, and thus lay eyes on the monster that awaited at the docks.

Caithas's eyes grew wide as he observed the..._thing_. He wasn't sure how to describe it, other than a massive lump of what appeared to be sludge that formed numerous faces in its many sides. It pulsed with the sludge that comprised it, and it groaned rather loudly every few seconds. Feeling as though he would eventually be driven mad by the sound, Caithas began to charge towards the docks, making his way down steps with considerably less ash on them than the streets he had walked to reach the cathedral. The steps down to the dock were made of limestone, but time's passage had led to them being bleached white and pockmarked with signs of age, such as many of the stairs being chipped and some outright broken away. Caithas charged down now, his sword and shield in hand, and even as he moved he could feel the breath slowly escaping him, as if urging him to stop and rest, but he disregarded the feeling. "I don't know what that thing is," he gasped as he approached the massive sludge pile, "but I intend to kill it so I can get out of here!"

As if it had heard him (which it most likely did), the abomination turned slightly, as if to face him with one of its many visages. Its low, trembling moan filled the air around the two combatants, and it shuddered slightly as it began to move towards Caithas. The knight prepared himself by bringing up his shield, and as if he had expected it, a massive spike shot out from the creature's mouth, and it struck against the shield, causing Caithas to stagger backwards from the force of the blow. Caithas lowered his shield as the massive spike retracted, and ran towards the monster, and he began to strike into the mass that was this horror, his each and every stroke desperate.

Caithas realized that it was going to do something as it looked to the smoky sky above, and then it seemed to almost belch out a skull. Caithas found the skull almost trivial, until it began to drift towards him. He realized something was off when he saw the pinkish glow in its eye sockets, and he found himself right – and too late to move – as it began to gather power, and then it exploded in a burst of magical power, sending Caithas flying backwards against the shattered steps, breaking some more of them on impact. The knight struggled to his feet, clutching his shortsword and his shield. That precise moment was when he realized that this creature wasn't one of the Hollows he had so easily vanquished in the cathedral; this was something that could kill him with ease.

He then decided that charging in blindly would bring him death and nothing else, and he began to study the horrifying monster that writhed across the docks from him. A spike shot out from its mouth, and he raised his shield to block the blow from the monster. He capitalized on the moments that it took retracting the protrusion to strike out at it multiple times. This eventually devolved into him circling around it, deflecting its blows as he would strike at it afterward. To Caithas, it was almost..._boring_. The battle didn't carry the exhiliration that the battle against the seven Hollows had held, and he didn't feel as though it would be particularly exciting to fight this beast any longer.

Finally, it tilted back again, as if to belch out another skull. Caithas grabbed onto the sludgy beast and climbed onto its supposed chin, and he plunged his weapon over and over into its mouth. It screamed as he struck at it over and over, the bloodlust in his eyes taking over as he removed his sword from its mouth. He jumped away slightly and thrust his sword out, causing it to carve a downward line through the body of the beast. It screamed inhumanly as it began to die, deflating and spreading out, dripping into the water of the docks below. It eventually exploded into a shower of light, and Caithas saw something where the beast had been. He walked over to it and picked it up, and saw it was a large lump of some kind of rock. He decided it would be valuable to keep, and he tucked it into a pocket.

He turned to see a pair of rowboats, and one of them was severely damaged, yet another was in pristine condition. He climbed inside the working boat, and grasped the oar, and began to stroke the oar through the water, pushing himself forwards into the ocean, and away from the burnt kingdom of Rast...

**END OF I: CATHEDRAL AND DOCK  
**THE NEXT CHAPTER:  
II: LARANDAL


	3. I-II

**IRON SOULS  
IRON ARC  
II: Larandal**

Caithas's arms throbbed with exhaustion, and his chest heaved every now and then with his harsh breathing and his heart pounded wildly. He felt as though he had been rowing for days, even though it had only been a few hours. The afternoon sky he had failed to notice under the blotted sky of Rast had transitioned to the fading rays of sundown, and the mighty red glow of sunset had not yet come to pass. The wood under him creaked a little with each motion of his arms, and the soft sounds of the sea filled Caithas's ears as they had for several hours.

The knight soon spotted land, and he sped up his rowing in an effort to get there a bit faster, since anything would be better than the burnt city he had left behind. His thoughts drifted to the priest, Jien Lamar, that he had left in the cathedral. He wondered to himself if the man was alright, but quickly tossed the thought aside, figuring that the priest would be able to make it on his own due to some sort of divine luck. As soon as the thought had left his mind, Caithas felt the boat under him jar to a stop on low-lying rocks, and the scraping sound startled him.

He felt wetness underneath him as well as wood, and looked down to see that the little rowboat was beginning to fill with seawater. Panic briefly clouded his judgment before his senses returned to him, and he observed how far away he was from land. He noticed that it wasn't too very far, so he decided to abandon the boat and try to walk on the rocks that he had stopped on. He swung his legs over the side of the boat, and went into water that was about waist-deep, shivering due to the chill that swept him. He tried to ignore the frigid sensation and began to slog through the water, treading on rocks. Caithas gritted his teeth as he slowly began to feel the seawater getting lower and lower as he progressed, hoping that he would make it to the shoreline with no incident.

As luck would have it, there would be no falling into the water to nearly drown, nor no slip that would break open his head, but rather Caithas's safe arrival on land. The knight dropped to his kness and caught himself with his hands as he fell to all fours. He panted with exertion and exhaustion, realizing just how much of a toll the trip from the burnt kingdom of Rast to this new land had taken on him. His heartbeat still thrummed quite swiftly, and his muscles ached and groaned with the work he had done getting away from the fallen kingdom.

After a few moments of resting and generally catching his breath, he pushed himself to his feet, and began to drink in his surroundings. He saw a massive forest of incredibly tall trees looming before him, and the sight daunted him, for it was a jarring transition between ashen streets and this beautiful forest. The leaves above were green and vibrant with life, and he heard the faint sounds of creatures in the wood. He watched a squirrel dart by and shoot up a tree, pausing briefly to look around and ensure its own safety from whatever would hunt it before beginning its ascent once more.

Caithas began to walk forward slowly, becoming faintly aware of the crunch of dry leaves beneath his feet moments later, each step filling the air with the sound of movement. He looked around, observing the trees and the animals that moved hither and thither. He watched as another squirrel darted by his feet, looking at him and chittering briefly before darting off in a random direction. Caithas felt refreshed by the change of scenery, now that he considered it; the burnt, ashen city had been a damper on his spirits, and the sights and sounds of the wood around him invigorated him, as if the forest chose to share its life with him, as if it said to him, _We understand you need strength, and we will lend you what you need, brave wanderer._

As Caithas continued through the forest, he began to notice a sound that felt..off. The noise seemed to sound like the clinking of a hammer against an anvil, and the knight immediately perked up upon the realization. "A blacksmith is up ahead," he murmured to himself. He began to pick up speed, moving towards the sound of the working blacksmith, which gradually grew louder as he moved. Each crunch under his feet grew more frequent, became just a bit louder, as if ascending in tandem with the sounds of hammer-and-anvil.

Caithas finally strode into a small clearing, where the first thing he laid eyes on was a somewhat-large leather tent. It was kept standing up by four iron spikes, which had been hammered into the ground, and were tied to the tend by several thick ropes. The other sight was the hulking blacksmith himself; the man had a long, white beard, and a thin veil of gray hair upon his head, making him look as though he was balding. The blacksmith had dark blue eyes, and he would occasionally grunt in a rather low voice as he struck the iron atop his anvil with his hammer. He wore what appeared to be self-made leather clothing, which looked quite well-crafted, though it seemed that age was taking its toll on both clothing and wearer alike.

The blacksmith finished hammering, and looked up from his work to see Caithas. The smith raised his eyebrows briefly, before asking Caithas, "Hm? Oh, I didn't see you there. I don't get much in the way of visitors these days besides the occasional animal. Who might you be?" Caithas responded, "I'm Caithas. Caithas of Rast." The blacksmith's eyebrows shot up, and he quickly remarked, "Rast? That island kingdom that practically burned to its foundations? How'd you get out of that muck?"

Caithas explained what had happened to him after he had woken up inside the burnt hovel in the ashen city, and he told the blacksmith about the priest that he had encountered inside the church that had shown him the way to get out of the island kingdom. The blacksmith put his hammer down and listened to Caithas's tale of fighting his way through Rast and his escape to this mysterious new land. The man nodded when Caithas was finished, and said, "Well, at least you made it out of there. I think you may have been the only one to get out of Rast that I've seen. Word is most of the people there died, or went Hollow. Doesn't help that Rast was one of the first places hit by the undead curse."

Caithas simply turned and exposed the Darksign branded on his neck, causing the blacksmith grimaced, and remark, "Aye, that's the sign of the curse." When the knight covered the brand back up and turned back to the man behind him, the latter had rolled up his right sleeve to reveal the Darksign on his shoulder, exposing the grim circle that seemed to have been seared into his flesh. Caithas realized that this man was also undead, and as the blacksmith pushed his sleeve back into normal position, he asked, "Who might you be, blacksmith?"

This elicited a throaty chuckle from the man before him, who said, "Steelsmith Graigor. Well, at any rate, you can call me Graigor. It's not that anyone else calls me that anymore, what with the nearby village that I help out referring to me as the local blacksmith. It gets rather drab hearing the same cries of 'Blacksmith, blacksmith! Repair this, repair that!' Now, don't get me wrong, I don't dislike what I do at all, 'tis what I've been doing for all my life, just about. Rather, it's all the same thing. It's a pain in my backside repairing the same things, listening to the same requests. It's all a bunch of sameness, Caithas."

The knight nodded, and said, "If only I could say the same. What with the fact I can't remember much outside of waking up in that burnt building, I can't say I've had to deal with any of that, what with the only things I've met besides you and the priest wanting to rip me to pieces." Graigor sighed in a melancholy fashion, and said, "Aye. Half the people in this village have already lost their minds, and there's rumors going about that all those that aren't completely nuts are going to make a run for it. I don't expect them to get very far, seeing as there's some rather rough beasties out there that not even you would want to tangle with."

Caithas looked inquisitively at Graigor, asking, "What kind of...monsters would you be talking about?" The blacksmith shook his head slightly and clicked his tongue a few times, saying, "Boy, you'd be a bit off your rocks of you wanted to try to fight some of the big baddies I've seen wandering about this place. Word is that one of the major offenders is a hulking bastard named Akanatos. Of course, I haven't seen the beast for myself, but I hear that it's already ravaged some of the countryside, and he's one of the main reasons why the townsfolk are wanting to get out."

The knight pressed the blacksmith about Akanatos, inquiring, "What would Akanatos be?" Graigor looked off to the side, and then returned his gaze to Caithas. "You sure you want to hear this, boy? Akanatos isn't a beastie to be taken lightly." When Caithas nodded, Graigor began to explain exactly what Akanatos was. "You see, Akanatos is a demon, and a particularly powerful one at that. Rumor is that he's a human-turned-horror, but I think that's hogwash. They say he's born of the Demonfather, Alkaroth. Alkaroth is said to live in the Blasted Lands, where all demons are born and leave from. Funnily enough, Akanatos may be a more tame-seeming demon, seeing as all I've heard from those who tried to explore the Blasted Lands came running back, describing massive, inhuman horrors, and some even said there were four-faced, eight-legged demons that were almost like gigantic, fleshy spiders. May have very well been delusion on their part, because nobody really knows what's in the Blasted Lands besides the Demonfather himself."

Caithas watched Graigor raptly as the latter described Akanatos as best as he could. When the blacksmith finished talking about the rampaging demon, the knight said, "This...Akanatos. Where do you think he could be at this moment?" Graigor nearly flinched on hearing these words, and he increduously spat, "What are you, barmy? Taking on Akanatos is paramount to getting yourself killed! A demon isn't as easy to kill as a Hollow, by no means. Demons are a rough bunch, believe me you. I tried to take one on myself when I was as young as you, and how I managed to kill the thing was a surprise even to me."

"You've slain a demon?" The very thought of this blacksmith defeating a demon brought wonder to the eyes of the knight that sat across from him. Graigor sighed and shook his head, wondering how naïve Caithas could very well be. Then again, Graigor couldn't really fault Caithas for being as such; the knight had awoken without much memory of his past. "Aye," said the blacksmith as simply as he could. He didn't need Caithas gushing over the fact he, Steelsmith Graigor, had killed a demon, even if it had nearly cost him his life.

"But, enough talk of demons," said Caithas, bringing a wave of relief to the blacksmith. "What is the name of this land I've arrived in?" Graigor laughed heartily, feeling mirth roll through him, thus earning him a bemused look from Caithas of Rast. "Why, my boy, you're in the land of Larandal."

"So, Larandal is on a huge continent, whereas Rast was in a simple delta?" The question came from Caithas after Graigor had spent some time explaining what Larandal was in comparison to the small island kingdom of Rast. "Aye, Caithas, Larandal's nothing like Rast. You could get lost in Larandal with ease, whereas I'd reckon it'd be easy to find your tracks on that island."

"I see what you're getting at," responded Caithas, "but then, just how large exactly is Laran-" Just as Caithas began to ask what seemed like the umpteenth question, an obviously distraught figure ran up, sweat on their skin and fear planted deep into their every facet, be it the terrified look in their eyes, or the way they ran as fast as they could towards Graigor and Caithas. The surprise visitor wore cheap robes, which looked to have been shoddily sewn together. The shoes the man wore were worn out with time and use, but that didn't matter when he was crying, "Blacksmith, blacksmith! Something wicked this way comes!"

Graigor grunted and stood from the log where which he sat. "Come, Caithas. A beast comes, so does the time to bring it down. Swiftly now, we need to get there so no one dies." Caithas shot to his feet, and the villager didn't even bother wasting another breath trying to explain before darting off towards the village from which he had come. Caithas was quick to follow, with Graigor lumbering behind, growling under his breath for Caithas to slow down a bit, that all this movement wasn't very easy on his old bones.

Caithas didn't have time to pay mind to the scenery around him as he followed the villager, focusing more on what lay ahead rather than what was around him. He kept his hand on the sword he had taken with him from Rast, and prayed that it would help him defeat whatever was assaulting the village. As the three men approached the village, Caithas finally caught sight of the creature that the villager had been so panicked by: It was a humanoid beast, but it was hunched over dramatically, and one could see its spine almost poking out of its back. Its skin was dark brown and drawn, even more so than the Hollows Caithas had encountered in the burnt city. Its hands were hooked and claws grew out of them, and they were already covered in blood, which was dripping slowly. The only thing about the beast that didn't seem right was its head, which was rather small for a creature that was larger than three men combined.

Caithas drew his sword and readied his shield, staring down the abomination that stood hulking over the village, which itself was populated by rather small huts, each with a thatched roof. The knight, however, didn't have time to sweep his gaze over the place, for the beast turned and caught him in its heartless gaze, screeching at him as it lay eyes on him. It charged, causing the villager to run off to the side, and that villager barely evaded the horror's swiping claws as they came slicing down towards Caithas. He rolled out of the way, causing the claws to gouge out gashes in the ground, rather than gashes in the knight's body. The beast turned on its rather tiny legs, and growled at the knight before it.

Caithas charged at it, sword raised high. This proved to be a rather foolish mistake, as the monster folded its left arm into a battering ram of sorts and bashed it into Caithas's chest, sending him flying backwards. The knight landed on his back, feeling his ribs ache where the beast's elbow had struck him. He struggled to his feet as the monster lumbered towards him, its claws dragging against the ground as it lurched towards him with hate and fury in its black eyes. He could already smell the monster's rancid breath even when it was just several feet away.

Caithas was quick to move out of the way as its claws came arcing down once again, this time ripping through one of the straw walls of a hut, exposing a woman cowering in the corner of the hut, fearful for her life, her whimpers audible even over the snarling of the inhuman evil. The woman's terrified noises seemed to set something off in Caithas, filling him with a rage that almost made him go berserk, yet he reined it in as he felt newfound strength surge through him.

The knight realized the claws were the most dangerous part of the monster, so he quickly rushed the monster while it was distracted by the woman and dug his blade into the beast's stumpy left arm, and the monstrosity screamed upon feeling the steel sword slide into its arm and snapped its head around at impossible speed as it watched Caithas withdraw the shortsword and begin hacking away furiously. Each stroke of the weapon seemed to draw from the fury flowing through the knight, and as the creature brought up its other arm to swing at Caithas, he rolled under the beast and stabbed his blade upwards into its chest. It reared up and bellowed in agony and rage, and the knight felt himself hoisted into the air, grasping his blade as the monster screamed. He grasped the monster's shoulder and withdrew his sword, aiming for the beast's neck, digging the shortsword into the side of it.

This, however, proved largely ineffective, as unlike the piercing blow to the chest that had wounded it so, the monster seemed to hardly react to the blade in its neck, instead plucking Caithas from its chest and flinging him into a hut with a massive amount of strength. The knight felt his muscles cry out as he flew through a straw wall, leaving the roof to collapse onto him, and the knight struggled to stand, brushing the remnants of the thatched roof off of his armor. This was when he realized that he was effectively crippled; all he had on him as a weapon was his shield, for his shortsword was still buried in the inhuman being's neck.

_No matter,_ the knight thought to himself as he ran at the thing before him, rolling past its claws as it swiped at him viciously. He turned and jumped onto its back, beginning to scale it while beating at its head with his shield. The horror struggled to grasp him as he moved to reclaim his sword, mainly succeeding in only wounding itself by gouging itself with its claws, albeit minorly. As he grasped the blade, he felt the monster fall backwards in an attempt to crush him, leading him to jump off right as the thing began to fall. He took advantage of this, stabbing his sword into its forehead, jabbing over and over as the monster screamed in agony. He finished it off by plunging his sword into its eye, ensuring that the blade went to the hilt.

Or, so he thought that he finished it off. As he withdrew his sword and began to walk away, the monster began to struggle to its feet. It was obviously dying, but it seemed to still have enough strength for one last chance to kill Caithas. It lurched towards him for the last time, claws outstretched to eviscerate the knight, and this prompted Caithas to backstep and thrust his sword towards the creature's head. The attack struck true, Caithas's sword impaling the horrid being's skull, showing off a rather grotesque death for the creature: The knight's sword had ran it through from chin to the back of its head, with its eye ruined by his next-to-last attack. Caithas struggled to remove the blade as it slumped, dead, and he placed his hand against its forehead in order to push it off the blade.

The creature, not unlike the muck he had fought at the docks of Rast, vanished into a brilliant flash of white light, before leaving behind a small, blackened sprite in its place. The knight wandered towards the thing, gently grasping it in his hands as he observed it. It was as though he held the soul of the hateful beast that had tried to slaughter a village and then him. Just as he was prepared to ask what it was, he felt his knees buckle and his vision fade as he blacked out, exhausted from his battle with the beast...

**END OF CHAPTER II: LARANDAL  
**THE NEXT CHAPTER:  
III: EPISTLE


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